An exquisitely carved agarwood desk lay shattered, its finely crafted pieces reduced to splinters on the floor, the refreshing scent of agarwood diffusing throughout the room.
A man's silhouette stood amidst these fragments
Half of his body concealed in darkness, the other half draped in a watery cloak of moonlight spilling in from the window.
"Did you see it?"
Gui asked.
"See what."
"The Martial Artist."
Zhao Rong, rubbing his flush-stained cheeks, nodded, "…Yes, I saw it."
The Sword Spirit fell silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke, "What else?"
Zhao Rong furrowed his brows, looking down at the desk he had unintentionally shattered.
This Martial Artist of unknown origin seemed to feed on dragons; his surging blood and strength also appeared connected to the Dragon Descendants, following an entirely different path than the Martial Artists of the Xuanhuang Realm. In terms of vigor and physique, he seemed even more formidable.
